Child of Flame (Crown of Stars #4)

She had seen so much death and cruelty that she wondered if it had crushed her heart. She hated herself for ever thinking of Bulkezu as a handsome man. Outward beauty meant nothing if the heart within was misshapen and monstrous.

Bulkezu’s pavilion and the main encampment stood on a low rise overlooking the river valley from the west. The Veser River flowed northward, mighty and broad, meeting a tributary that flowed in from the east through rugged countryside right where the fortress city had been built to take advantage of such a good defensive position. The Quman army had trampled the fields outside of the city, on the west bank of the Veser, although most looked as though they had already been harvested.

“They must have good grain stores,” said Agnetha suddenly, betraying her background as a practical farm girl. Not even the rich gowns that Ekkehard dressed her in could disguise the strength of her callused hands. No doubt she had hoed many a field and wrung many a chicken’s neck in her time, before she’d been forced to accept the privilege of gracing a captive prince’s bed. “And with rivers on two sides, good access to water. They’ll be hard to take, as long as the walls hold.”

Hanna glanced at her, surprised. “You’ve learned a thing or two about war.”

“So I’ve had to,” replied Agnetha bitterly. “Prince Ekkehard and his companions talk of little else.” Although she was already speaking in a low voice, she leaned closer and whispered so softly in Hanna’s ear that Hanna strained to hear. “He’s terrified. That’s his aunt’s city, and you can see by the banner that she is in residence together with his cousins. All he’s done the last three days is pray to God to not force him to commit treason against his own kin.”

“It seems late to worry about that.”

“That may be, but what else was he to do, taken prisoner and all?”

“He could have refused to fight on Bulkezu’s behalf.”

“And been killed instead? His own kin haven’t treated him with respect, have they? Why shouldn’t he resent them?”

“Is that what he tells you?” asked Hanna.

“Why shouldn’t he tell me? Who else will listen to him?”

Hanna examined the pretty young woman. Not even red and swollen eyes could ruin the promise of her full lips and fuller bosom, nor tarnish the glory of her thick, dark hair. For all Ekkehard’s faults, he was still a prince of the royal house, with fine manners, an elegant figure, and his own share of Henry’s charisma. Thrown together with him in desperate circumstances, learning the best ways to smooth his feathers when he became agitated, comprehending that his protection could perhaps save her remaining family: nay, she could not find it in her heart to blame Agnetha for becoming his champion, in her own way. People did what they had to, to survive.

All the ferries and fords upstream along the Veser River were in Quman hands, and no doubt Bulkezu was in the process of sending out soldiers to take over those ferries a day’s ride downstream of the city as well. The army fanned out along the eastern bank of the Veser, striking east into the forested country that lay between the two rivers, probing, burning, killing any poor soul unlucky enough not to have heard the warnings and retreated to the safety of Osterburg’s decrepit walls. The main part of the force waited outside the city, ready for another assault once the siege engines had done their work.

“There are so many of them,” whispered Agnetha hopelessly. “No one can ever defeat them.”

Despite everything, Hanna still hoped a fierce hope. “They just look like so many because of the way they swarm over the ground. Look there.” She pointed to the three fires burning about a stone’s throw from Bulkezu’s pavilion. “Haven’t you seen how they signal to each other, using smoke?”

One of the boys kneeling by Ekkehard’s tent leaped up and raced over. “You better come.” He pulled at Agnetha’s sleeve. “His lordship wants you.”

With a glance, a murmured word that Hanna could not understand, Agnetha hurried away. As she went, the distant “thump” of the two catapults being released shuddered through the air. Hanna held her breath, trying to keep her gaze on the missiles rising, and then falling. A cloud of dust rose from within the walls, followed by a stream of smoke as the fire rags caught in thatch.

So it went as the morning passed and the afternoon bled away. Smoke rose at intervals but always got put out again. Hanna paced, four guards in ever-present attendance on her. Prince Ekkehard and his companions stayed in their tent, praying. Now and again she caught sight of Bulkezu’s griffin wings below as he rode down to the ferry, over to the catapults, and then vanished north of the city. Cherbu rode beside his brother, easily identifiable because he wore no wings. A few pathetic prisoners, bloody and limping, fled west into the woodlands beyond the open fields, but Quman scouts rode after them and herded them in, driving them back toward the main encampment. At last, Hanna walked with a sick heart to the prisoners’ compound, a makeshift corral guarded by the youngest and most inexperienced Quman soldiers, the ones who would more likely overreact to any least sign of activity among the prisoners and who were therefore the most dangerous sentries.